


Kyrie Eleison

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV First Person, Pretentious, Vampires, sort of, this is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-15
Updated: 2003-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Patrick Roy craves something. Something that only JS Giguere can give him - and not of his own volition.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kyrie Eleison

**Author's Note:**

> Let's assume they're speaking in French.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

I am there - I am *always* there. I am beside him, I am behind him, I am inside him - I am all around him.

He does not know it, but I am like his shadow - non, in fact, I _am_ his shadow now. I follow him wherever he goes, waiting.

Because he has something I need. He has something I crave.

* * *

" _JS, great job,_ " I exclaim, when I meet him after the Mighty Ducks' win over the Wild.

His face is flushed, and his hair is sticking up in the air. JS runs a hand over his red face, and smiles, when he sees that it's me. " _Hello, Patrick. It's an honor to have you here, at my game..._ "

" _Ah, you are far too modest,_ " I cluck, draping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against me. " _I am very proud of you! Four French-Canadian goalies in the Conference Finals! This is something to be proud of!_ "

JS glows under my praise, and if I reached out right now, I could probably take it - that which I crave from him. " _But it is,_ " he agrees, eagerly, still glowing, so beautiful and young.

So young.

" _Come with me, my boy. I will take you out for drinks, in honor of your series win over the Wild,_ " I exclaim, tugging on his arm. " _You hurry and get dressed, and I will be waiting for you by the players' exit._ "

" _Okay, Patrick! I will be right back!_ " JS scampers off, like an excited little hyperactive puppy.

I lean against the brick wall outside the Ducks' lockerroom, and close my eyes.

The fluorescent lights are much too harsh for me.

* * *

I take JS to a small bar not far from my hotel, and buy him a round of drinks in honor of the series victory.

JS seems slightly overwhelmed, and bewildered; he is still a good kid, deep in his heart. Despite the flashes of cockiness, and attitude, JS is just a kid searching for attention, praise and approval.

I will _give_ him that attention, praise and approval to get what I want.

" _You were so terrific tonight,_ " I gush, leading him to the booth I selected before setting off for the Arrowhead Pond. " _Four shutouts in a row! That is a new record, is it not?_ "

" _But, yes,_ " he murmurs, demurely, deflecting his gaze to the shiny black. table top, " _that it is._ "

" _People are all ready whispering that you are the next Roy,_ " I state, flipping open a menu. " _Royguere. That is what they call you now._ "

" _Oh, goodness, no! Too much pressure! I am not the next Roy! I am the only Giguere!_ " he says, shaking his head. " _I will never be the next Patrick Roy!_ "

I scan the wine list, absently. I do not want wine, I want JS. " _Stop being so modest. The great ones know they are great, JS, and they let everyone else know it, as well._ "

JS shrugs, and looks at his menu, scratching his playoff beard. " _I am very flattered that you are taking an interest in me, Patrick._ "

The boy looks at me with such bright, innocent eyes, that I almost feel a pang of guilt.

Almost.

That moment soon passes, and I shut the wine list and push it aside. " _JS, my dear boy, it is only natural that I would take an interest in you. You're special, you're the next one. There was Sawchuk, and then Roy - and now there is Giguere._ "

" _I would never be as big as Sawchuk, or you, Patrick!_ " JS says, his jaw dropping in surprise. " _My career record isn't even that good!_ "

" _It does not matter what you do in the regular season, JS. The playoffs is what matters,_ " I remind him.

The boy will need work.

We order our meals - I order barbecued lamb ribs and JS orders some sort of healthy vegetarian rice entrée - and we settle into a comfortable routine. Every now and then, we will pause to smack our lips, or compliment our meals.

And finally we are done.

It is now time. It is time to set my plan into motion.

* * *

I've gotten JS a little tipsy - I doubt my plan will work any other way - and I lead him to my car.

" _I'm so sorry,_ " he says, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. " _I've never been this drunk, Patrick._ "

" _Now is as good a time as any to start,_ " I coo.

" _Oh,_ " he moans, flopping into the backseat of my Jeep. " _Such a hangover I will have tomorrow! I am glad I will have a week to sleep it off before the Cup Finals!_ "

I join him in the back, and give him a platonic pat on the knee. " _That's the thinking, JS,_ " I tease.

JS looks up at me, and for a moment, I see an apparition of the child he once was - and still is. His eyes betray a childlike guilelessness that melts my core. The warm, runny feeling flows from my heart to my extremities, and to my toes and to my cock, and it warms me inside to the point that I cannot take it any more.

I lean forward and kiss him on his lips, gently, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching against my cheek.

At first, JS pushes away, squeaking in shock. But I don't let him go, I hold on to him, easing him into my arms.

" _It is okay, my dove,_ " I whisper into his skin, " _let me. Let me taste you._ "

His eyelashes brush against my skin, as he closes his eyes, and his tongue parts my lips ever so slightly.

I unbutton his shirt, and push it away from his precious skin.

My lips drift to the soft, downy skin of his throat - white like the ice on which we make our living.

I bite down lightly, and he lets out a soft, rapturous moan, thrusting his body against mine.

I almost lose my focus.

Almost.

* * *

Do I have regrets? Yes, I do. In fact, I have a millenium of regrets from which to draw.

As the sun begins to peak up from the horizon, I begin to suspect that maybe sweet, naïve, trusting Jean-Sebastien was one of my mistakes, one of my regrets.

The boy will never be the same, and I am to blame for that.

I have drained him of his essence and left behind nothing but an empty shell.

Oh, of course the Outsiders will analyze and analyze and analyze, until they have analyzed it nearly to death. They will chalk it up to drugs, or maybe an interfering agent, or nosy parents, or a woman. Maybe they will say it is the fame getting to his head.

They will never ever _ever_ know the truth. The truth I carry to my grave.

He is my lamb, and I am his God now.

Lord have mercy on my immortal soul.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
